


Winding Back the Clocks

by BackStabber128



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Timelines, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blood and Violence, Bonding Through Chaos, Character Development, Dark Humor, Death, Drug Withdrawal, Ending Headcanons, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Manga Spoilers, Minor Character Death, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Post-Timeskip, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Profanity, Racism, Strangulation, Time Travel, What-If, crude language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 20:41:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21834970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BackStabber128/pseuds/BackStabber128
Summary: . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Eren learns that the price of freedom costs much more than it achieves.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 44





	1. Severance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [euludey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/euludey/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like the tags state, this is more of a "what-if" story, if anything.  
> Kind of like the story retold if Eren was able to forget memories and experience alternate realities for the first time.
> 
> The perspective fluctuates between the characters to emphasize their situations. Mostly just the main trio being tortured and lots of absolutely bonkers Marleyan bad guys of mine. This is also my first time writing in Eren's perspective, so hopefully his parts turned out well.
> 
> I also decided to step out of my comfort zone for this story, hence the "absolutely bonkers Marleyan bad guys" part.  
> There's a part in the middle that really proves how ruthless some people can be, and the whole purpose is to show Eren the ugly truth of the world and how his friends fight through it against the odds.
> 
> So, if any description of captivity, powerlessness, or genuine nastiness bothers you -- here's your warning.
> 
> Also, please remember that all this story is, is words on a website. So it shouldn't be limited or censored just because it makes you feel emotion, in fact, that's what it's supposed to do. And in the end, it is the reader's own choice to expose themselves to certain material. Tags and warnings exist for a reason. And many fics I've seen delve far past the darkness of this one, so please be mindful.
> 
> There's a few other scenes that I wrote a few headcanons for the Marleyan society. They may not be accurate to canon, with a whole "badge" and "name-brand beige jacket" thing. I just thought the details were interesting and fitting to reflect Marley's strict, uptight society.
> 
> This was written for Euludy's "time travel" request. I decided to make this my first gift, since it's almost Christmas and it's only fitting lol. I hope I didn't go to overboard with the angst here, but let's face it, there's never too much angst. Thank you so much for the idea, it ended up tying into the introduction really well. I hope you like it!
> 
> Please enjoy.^^

Family. 

That was what they always were, Eren knew. 

Family, despite none of them sharing even an ounce of similar blood. Regardless, they stuck together. Like the seal of grease in a pan, blood seeping and staining pale concrete. Closer than their real families ever were, and ever could be.

Eren took a sharp glug from the liquor in his can, gulping back lingering guilt threatening to spill through his peaceful buzz. His idle gaze wandered back to his family, singing and cheering painfully off key while waltzing clumsily through the tent.

Their minds were clearly hazed by happy folktale songs and various la la lands… 

Minds lured into a fake embrace of security. Blinding them of what was near, and what was bound to happen.

Eren almost wished he could be in that state as well. Have peace, happiness, one last time before the storm. 

But the moment never came.

So he continued to sit there, in the midst of sluggish chaos, and watched. He chuckled occasionally, seeing a side of his family he could swear he’d never seen before. 

He noticed that Mikasa kept glancing over at him. Messy squiggles of tangled dark hair hid the sadness in her eyes. A strange blend of admiration and sorrow danced on her face, and a soft, ivory hand brushed against a flushed cheek.

Eren didn't look back at her, pretending to be too preoccupied with his sleeve to meet eye to eye. 

He had hurt her, he knew. But he had to. Had to make her think his fault was hers. Needed to put the burden on her shoulders, even when the burden was already weighing him down as well. 

Eren had gotten used to the memories by then. A common occurance through his daily life. He studied the creases of his palms, inspecting the skin of his knuckles that were not yet knobbed by the strain of war. His palm not yet sliced and slick with fine scarlet. 

Not yet, but soon, it would be. 

A sign to his loved ones of how far he had gone. For them. For freedom. For war.

On cue, a soft, warm hand found its way onto Eren’s shoulder. To which, the brunette didn’t even flinch.

“What’s wrong, Eren?” Came Armin’s ditzy, loopy voice. The clumsy fingers tugged a bit at Eren’s loose suit jacket. “Don’tcha wanna join us? Have fun ‘n enjoy the moment while it lasts??” Despite the dreamy haze of joy the blond was in, he could still tell something was wrong. An impressive feat, considering all the shots he had downed already. 

“No thanks, I’m fine here.” Eren claimed, bringing the silver can to his lips again. The faint taste of rust intruded his taste buds, but he decided to ignore it. 

Armin eyed his friend quizzically, before releasing Eren’s shoulders. He inspected his own hands and flexed his fingers experimentally, as if unsure what to do with them. 

“What’s this mean, then?” He tried.

Eren managed to cock his brow, “What’s what?”

“You keep…” Armin jabbed at nothing, struggling to find the words, “... _dawdling_ at things. Thinking, daydreaming. Like… y’know, you used to. It’s weird.” He looked around, suddenly appearing frazzled. ”Are we in the past…?”

Eren nearly faltered at the words, but masked it with a chuckle, “No, what makes you say that?”

Armin cracked his own soft smile, “I remember when me ‘n Mikasa… we were, like,” He paused, contemplating, “We always knew when something was wrong. Always knew what to say, how to help… yadda, yadda, yadda…” He trailed off in a blur of murmurs. 

Suddenly, he peeked up with sleepy, hazy eyes, “You’d tell us if anything’s wrong, right?”

Armin chortled slightly, clearly trying to play it off as a joke, as if Eren wouldn’t notice. 

“Yeah.” Eren answered, “Of course. You guys are my family, I would never lie to you.”

The words stung like poison to his tongue. But he knew what he needed to do next would hurt so much worse. 

Armin offered a toothy grin, patting his best friend sloppily on the shoulder one last time. The happiness was so unlike him, so unlike the pictures of him flickering in Eren's mind.

Without warning, the disheveled blond pulled him in a hug, squeezing him with vigor that no drunk man should have. “We love you… you know that, right?”

The strength it took not to pull away from him and scatter back into the lone corner was nearly unbearable. He knew he didn’t deserve this. 

Before Eren knew it, everyone in the room was crowding around them. A chorus of “awwww”’s filled the room, so many people hopping in to join a massive group hug. Hell, even Connie, Sasha, and Jean had stopped playing ‘pin the tail on the donkey’ in order to join. 

So many strangers and friends with alcohol souring their breaths. Eren prayed that it suffocated him before his ordeal had to begin. 

“I love you, too.” He pat Armin on the back. He caught Mikasa’s drunken gaze beside him, her face still flushed and glazed as ever. “All of you,” He added.

He didn’t deserve this.

  
  


###

  
  


When Eren burst awake by a splash of ice water and Levi and Hange’s scolding shouts, he decided it was time. 

It was a bitter memory. Stuffing a single suitcase with handfuls of his belongings. Plucked every piece of himself from their home. As if he were never even there.

Eren could only imagine his companions waking up with spinning heads, bolting to the buckets before one question swirled in their minds. 

_Where did he go?_

Part of him wondered if any of them would even notice. But deep down, he knew they would.

It was hard enough to abandon them without warning. Leave them in the dust as if they were no more than the dirt caked at the bottom of his shoes. But it was the right thing to do. 

Far better, in fact, than what he needed to do next. What he had been preparing to do for three whole years. And yet, he still couldn’t believe that he was going to. Not even when vile images of his older self doing it replayed in his skull.

He was the only one capable, only one with the destiny that had been tainted upon him. 

With that destiny came responsibility.

And with that responsibility, Eren could see the dawn of his mistakes far clearer than anyone else could. 

The silver lining was, he could also be the one to stop it, rewind, play again until the world was at its best state. The best it could be.

Living his mistakes was nothing like playing them over again. That was something he learned fast. 

In a way, it was like playing a game. Some part of Eren wanted to pretend that a game was all it was. 

When his feet stood back on Marleyan soil, rolling a baseball back and forth in his hands. Back when he was contemplating whether or not interact with Falco. Tell him to send the letters. 

He saw his future self be so eager to do so and eradicate a stage in the town square, but he couldn’t help but wonder why.

Freedom was one thing, but these were _people_. Just like him and his friends. 

What did he, or rather, his future self, have against them? What made them so different?

He watched the Marleyans idly in the streets, deeply pondering.

‘What made me go so far…?’

That was before Eren dragged himself out of the city, with no public titan transformation.

Slid out in secret. Feet marching across patches of plants in a dark, secluded forest. 

His head spun, wondering if the scenes he saw were just illusions or dreams. Specters his cruel mind cast to haunt him.

When the brunette peered up, he saw the blimps. They all were sailing in scattered clutters. Each one looking no different than the last.

They all were just black blobs splattered in a purple night sky. They were all the same.

The sight felt eerily familiar, but not enough to ring the warning bells in Eren's head. 

Not until he saw the telltale burst of color from Marley’s harbor, and heard the almighty _Boom_ that shook the Earth and rained fire from the sky. 

The soldier had experienced many explosions in his lifetime. 

Titan transformations, impact grenades, bombs… but none that struck terror in him as much as watching all the airships explode in midair. They burst, disintegrated, practically vanishing in the span of an instant. 

It was too bright to stare at, it burned his eyes. But Eren couldn’t look away. 

He felt the wind gushing his hair free, stared at how the flame bloodied the sky into a dark crimson and orange. Crackles and pops like fireworks filled his ears. Debris falling and smashing into the vulnerable town below. 

_They would do anything to eradicate the enemy._ Eren slowly realized, _Even destroy their own people in order to succeed._

It was only then did he remember seeing it before.

Eren couldn’t feel the hot air scorching past him, nor the sand slipping past his feet. All grass and vegetation had evaporated away. It was a sign that he was willing to go back. Fulfill the wish that was already complete.

That was the memory he forced himself to remember when he burst through the stage in Marley. Staring at all those terrified eyes and smashing the innocents running for their lives. The wish he fulfilled.

But that wasn’t the only one. 

There was one memory where he had told the Survey Corps too much. The outcome of so much guilt and shame he suppressed ended up slipping into the writing. Maybe he even did it on purpose.

He didn’t realize it until more intruding images popped behind his eyes. Ones he’d never seen before. With no context, they didn’t make any sense. His friends, all lined individually, wearing armbands and beige coats. Pictures of a distraught Armin, some of Mikasa. An asian man with a goatee and devilish dark eyes. Two other men who resembled alley criminals or gang members.

Eren couldn’t tell if they were premonitions or just paranoia catching up with him. It was hard, nearly impossible to tell the difference. 

It was only when he heard an alarm ring off and the clammer of Marleyan guards did he find out the truth. 

Guns cocked with loaded bullets. Pleads of “We’re looking for someone!” In Jean’s terrified voice. “We’re Marleyan! Our friend has dark brown hair and green eyes -- Have you seen him?”

“We’re his relatives.” A female voice chimed in, calm and collective -- Mikasa, “We’re not from around here. We don’t know how things work.”

The officer lowered his rifle a bit and furrowed his brow. He was a gruff, middle aged man with curly brown hair and a patchy grey beard. He wore a bleached beige coat, shabby brown pants, and black military boots. Multiple glints of silver decorated his chest, indicating his high status.

“Badges.” He ordered, rough and guttural. His gloved hand was already outstretched towards them.

The supposed ‘family’ eyed each other anxiously. 

“...Badges?” Jean questioned. 

“Yeah, badges.” The sheriff’s rifle rose again, “You know, the proof that you are indeed of superior blood? The ones you recieve the day you’re born?”

“O-Oh, right! We left them in the car when we came. We didn’t think we needed them.” A softer male voice claimed, quick and sly -- Armin, “Like she said, we don’t know how things work around here.”

The officer lowered his gaze, clicking his tongue and bouncing the pipe between his teeth, “Right.”

Armin’s eyes stilled, then hardened, “I apologize for the inconvenience, sir. Should we go retrieve them?”

“No.” Came a far too forgiving response. The older man merely propped his gun over his shoulder, “Just don’t let it happen again, got it?” 

Eren’s wavering breath released like a prayer he hadn’t realized he was holding. He watched from the corner of the door frame as the man slowly walked away.

It was only then Eren realized the dire situation he found himself in. If any of the people around him heard his true name, just one little slip up, they would all be discovered. All hell would break loose. Bullets to fly, blood to spill.

But what Eren didn't expect was for the officer to spin back around, setting his gun to the ground like a royal cane.

"Couldn't help but notice how your jackets aren't name brand either," He noted, and the Eldians froze at his words.

It was clear he was enjoying the power he had over them. Their lives dangling like a thin string about to be cut by shears.

"Say, what specific part of Marley are you from? I can't name any that wouldn't support the laws of dress code."

Armin was the first to turn around, the lie dangling at the tip of his tongue, "We’re from Liberi--" He was cut off by the nose of a gun aimed at his temple.

"You're a good liar, boy." The older man tsked, half mocking a country accent, "But sadly, not much else." He lowered his eyes,

"Put your hands up, all of you."

Eren bit his tongue hard enough to taste iron. _No._ He mentally cursed to himself. _No, no, no -- not this. Anything but this._

He could always rewind, change the course of time. But some dark, foul side of him felt like he needed to see what came next.

Morbid curiosity.

Tens of guards marched up within seconds. Each snatching and wrenching the Eldians' fists behind their backs.

"Please, please!! -J-Just let us see him, he's the only reason we're here!" Jean insisted with frantic brown eyes.

"What are you?" An old man barked, ignoring the desperate pleads, "Spies? Devils? Outcasts? Bandits trying to skimp by and steal wares??"

"They do kinda look like those island devils, don't they?" Another pointed out.

"Do they really?"

"Yeah, the tall one 'specially. The chick 'n pint size, too."

The group was ripped apart, tugged into various people's arms. 

"Couldn't it be a coincidence?" 

"Weren't there two or three more?"

"What if it's an ambush?"

"Doesn't that mean one could be… uh, the last of the nine?"

The chatter fell quiet.

"What if the other one's here as well? What's his name… Aaron?"

Eren's stomach twisted into a knot.

A big nosed man swore, dusting his hands on his jeans. "Well, shit. We can't take e'm to the gallows if one will blow the damn place to smithereens!"

"How can we tell who it is?"

"Beat them!" "Cut off all their limbs!" "Bind their wrists!" "Shoot them and see if there's steam!!"

Without warning, one of the guards yanked out a pistol and a _‘POW’_ filled the air.

"Aagh-!!" Jean gasped, clutching his stomach in horror. The blood swelled rapidly, bleeding between his fingers.

"Dammit! Not now, you idiot!" Yet another man exclaimed, "We have to wait until we have an audience! That way, this bullshit doesn't have to happen again!"

"Who says it wouldn't?" The previous one retorted, "These were no spectators, pal. They're intruders who skimped by past our guards. Provin' that we're just as weak as they think we are."

He jabbed a finger at Jean's heaving and crippled form, "...See? No steam."

Mikasa hissed silently under her breath, already halfway free of her aggressor's grasp and the blades of handcuffs.

"Not so fast, boys." A new female voice emerged, as she dragged over two bodies with bags over their heads. 

"Caught these two scopin' out over a ridge. Probably thinking they were too slick to be caught. Looks like they weren't the only ones."

She ripped the bag off the one on the left, revealing the distraught face of Connie Springer. 

Smacking her lips, the woman cracked the head of her gun to his brow, "Now, one of you three are gonna tell me what you're doing here. And if no one says, your friend will get his head blown off."

Panic scrambled in the air. Most of it came from the townsfolk, ironically, and the guards’ paranoid jabbling resumed again.

"What if he's the Colossal? If you kill him, the power might pass on to our Eldians, there could be a rebellion--"

"Bullshit." The lady snapped, the grip on her weapon grew tighter, "If he was, his head would grow right back. Trust me, I've seen it before."

Her gaze grew ice cold as she peered back at the three Eldians, who could only stare back, petrified.

She plucked a small pistol from her belt and guided it towards them. 

"Who would like to do the honors? Any volunteers?"

In the darkness, Eren gnawed his nails anxiously, steam wisping from each too-deep bite that drew blood. 

But still, he couldn't help but wonder. 

_What will happen?_

_How far would they go…?_

His questions were answered when the next crack of a gun went off. An awful, slick liquid noise came next, then a dull thump, followed by mortified cries and screams.

"I don't think his head's growing back..."

The sound of Mikasa's wrists threatening to snap her restraints and Armin's tears slapping the asphalt was far too easy to hear through the chaos.

Eren could see Armin's knuckle slowly drawing to his lips, could imagine him exchanging glances with Mikasa, them both thinking the same thing. Their last chance of survival, even if slim.

But would they succeed?

A crackle, and a snap, and Mikasa's hands came free. She lurched up with the vigor that resembled a wild animal, paying no mind to her broken joints and pounced on the first person she could get her hands on.

Eight guards tackled her back, however. And one took notice of Armin's far too superior motive. His teeth had already sunk into skin, blood dribbled, muscles clenched---

But no spark came.

Armin's nightmare had come true, his emotions had gotten the best of him, yet again. 

He couldn't bring himself to kill the last family he had.

And now, he was nothing more than a distraction.

The guard's eyes bugged, one hand came free, sputtering, "It's him! It's _him!_ He's the Colossal!!"

Not seconds, and Jean was on his feet, then Sasha, blindfolded and all. Pure desperation pumped in their veins.

"Run, run!" "Don't look back!" "Go! Just go!"

Overlapped pleads and orders barked through the crowd. All different voices of panic and terror consuming.

Armin had only a split second to decide. 

And he ran. Expertly sliced the meager rope around his wrist with a blade he hid between his fingers. Juked and dodged punches and bullets sent his way, managed to slide into an empty space.

In the clearing, Armin's head spun like a coin, mind racing, eyes searching for any open exit, his fist automatically raising to his mouth again, but fuck, he still needed to save--

The butt of a rifle came out of nowhere. Cracking him upside his skull fast, and hard enough for him to see stars.

Then he felt a bullet skewer his knee, a precaution to keep him down. The brunt of both impacts forced him to tumble into the harsh soil.

His world spun dark for a brief moment, but Armin's soldier instincts knew better than to let him succumb to it for more than a few seconds.

When he forced his eyes open, he saw the gruff sheriff from before. His boot stomped on his chest, his aged features vicious with victory. But the blond never stopped writhing, struggling to will himself to stand.

"Steam," The merciless man affirmed to the audience around him. 

The boy could only watch in horror as the smoke slithered through the air like puffs from a pipe. Clear as day.

"Just like the filth you are. Nothing more than the waste you exhale." 

The male tilted the brim of his hat over his brow with a dry sigh, "Looks like we'll be the only spectators, boys."

Huffs of disappointment dragged through the insidious breeze. 

Eren could only watch as the man hauled his friend over his shoulder like a rag doll. Crying out in terror, Armin twisted his head back to his friends, only to find the rest of the men taking them captive as well.

The string was sliced.

  
###

Before Eren knew it, he was in a jail cell. 

He was unsure of how he got there, maybe a flash forward in time due to his conflicting emotions.

The stench of the place was horrid. Like rotting pots of plants and ammonia.

The place was pitch black, with enough silence to hear a pin drop from a mile away. The darkness was almost never ending. With only one small lamp as an indicator of where he was.

Eren was uncertain of how much time passed, but spent a handful of moments inspecting specks of glass littered on the stone floor.

Sprouts of mushrooms and algae decorated the otherwise plain brick walls. A bare hint of light seeped through cracks, leaving splatters of white highlighting various areas of the prison.

The lights grew brighter when a door he hadn’t seen clicked, and then busted open. A burly tan-skinned man barged in, paired with an older, more mature male superior. They were carrying someone with them.

It was smaller, shorter, limbs cut at the elbows and knees, flaxen hair a mess. 

“What’s wrong, little fella?” The younger one sneered with a smile, rubbing a three-sizes-too-large hand along the boy’s spine. “Truth hurts, doesn’t it? How does it feel? Watching your people die at our hand while you can’t do a damn thing about it?”

The blond tensed his jaw, keeping his chin locked firmly to his chest. Struggling to muffle the feeble noises that threatened to escape.

“That’s how we feel. That’s what it’s like to be human.”

“Shut it, Sandal.” The older guard griped like a father scolding his son, “He’s suffered enough today, give it a rest.” 

A scoff, “Oh, he’ll rest, all right."

The former rolled his eyes.

They managed to shuffle a few more steps in silence, before the younger man opened his mouth again.

“No way this runt’s the Colossal. There's still cuts an' bruises on him. No steam." He tsked, "Where's the proof? He could just be a prisoner of treason for all we know."

"Remember that shifters can use their powers at will. Or… maybe the boys wore him out to the point that he… gave up." The old man retorted, clearly unsettled.

The blond beside him visibly trembled. Eren could see the silent shudders that wracked his friend's form. The broken rhythm sent throbs of guilt in his veins, but he didn't move.

He merely watched as the two shuffled blindly around him. They looked straight past him, as if he were no more than an obstacle in their path.

The phantom-like feeling was one Eren could never get used to.

"Are they still lookin' for the next inheritor?"

"Yep, they decided not to take the serum like we thought. Figured it would be best to let everyone watch." The man visibly shuddered with a shake of his head, "It's barbaric. Inhuman, in my eyes."

"Don't fall for their tricks," The other warned, "How do you know he's not just playing victim to make you pity him? There'll be a knife in your back before you realize."

"How do you know it's not otherwise?" The prior snapped, "Don't you ever consider being in anyone else's shoes? What if you were one of them? Wouldn't you do the same?"

"I dunno. But I sure as hell wouldn't step on an enemy's ground like I'm a dog pissin' in a stranger’s yard. It's not our fault for putting a dog in its place."

A loud thump and clank abruptly caught the two's attention.

The younger one sneered yet again and released his grasp on the titan shifter's arm, "Speaking about dogs…" He turned to a cell door, twisting the rusty knob, "I forgot to tell you about the prize I scored back in the city's alley."

The door swung open, and Armin jolted to life in the old man's hands. His blue eyes flooded with both recognition and mortification.

"Eremph!?" He squealed through the rope between his teeth.

Plain as day, Eren's past self was there, knelt on the dirty stone with arms and legs bound into thick metal slabs.

Ghoulish blades of dark hair cascaded down a pale face and pools of deep green.

There was a look Eren hadn't seen on himself in a long time. The way his eyes grazed the two men and then fell on Armin. The way his eyebrows scrunched and his teeth sunk hard into his bottom lip.

The sorrow and despair that swelled in him was one Eren would never forget.

He knew what he had done. Took advantage of the responsibility on his shoulders. Twisted a burden on himself. Sent his people into hell, his comrades into turmoil, killed them -- all because he wanted to see what would happen.

And he did. That was when he realized that he had underestimated the Marleyans, underestimated the cruel world he lived in.

Learned the cost of what it took to end the war. And God, was it painful. 

It felt like a punch to the face. Like an ocean tide beating him, the bitter salt scalding his nose and eyes.

"The Attack Titan?" The old man sputtered, unbelieving, "The military has been chasing him for months--a year! How did you-?"

"It's like the idiot had a deathwish. Just waltzed right up outta nowhere, put his hands in the air, didn't struggle or anything!" 

The brunette snickered, kicking at a broken chain on the floor, "Said he just wanted to see his squad before the execution date, but er… we're kinda late, bud. Sorry about that.”

He seemed to take notice of Armin grinding his teeth into the gag in his mouth. His muscles stiffening and eyes screwing shut. 

“But I do have an ounce of kindness left in me, since you gave yourself in so willingly. So, I’ll let you two talk in private.” The male winked at his partner across from him, who responded by shifting his eyes.

The two snapped metal cuffs on the blond, locking him in place, and ripped the gag from his mouth, before bounding back to where they came. 

As soon as the door clamped shut, a once silent fury in Armin began to boil, then unfurl. He lifted his head up to face Eren, a look of betrayal fuming in his eyes.

His cheeks seemed sunken and sallow. Pricks of sparse, barely-visible blond on his chin glinted under the light of the lamp beside them.

A sign that he had been there for a couple long, handfuls of nights. 

“Why…?” He began, voice cracking from misuse. Armin paused a moment, thinking over his words, “Where were you?”

Eren didn’t answer, giving the floor more attention than his once best friend.

“Where were you?” Armin repeated, louder, anger tinging his tone, “Tell me. What excuse do you have? They were all waiting for you. Jean, Sasha, Connie, _Mikasa…_ ”

He faltered, forcing his chin back to his chest. Fresh tears spilled free. “Her last words were… ‘Eren’s going to come, going to save us. I’m sure of it.’” A quivered gasp left his cracked lips, “She had so much faith in you… too much. And I got to see it break--right when the noose came up.”

What remained of the boy’s arms, bloodied stumps with the barest hints of steam, shook, clanking his chains. His voice cracked, “Where were you...?”

Eren shut his eyes, letting the words strike him like the end of a double edged sword. But at last, he knew… that _this_ was what he deserved.

And all he could bring himself to say was a soft, mournful, “...I’m sorry.”

As if Armin expected it, he shot back up, “Sorry won’t bring them back. They’re gone, dead, killed like dogs, just like that man said. They made me watch, hear the noises they made, and everyone in the audience was _cheering, applauding,_ and…”

A sob broke free, followed by a broken, tormented bawl, “I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.”

Armin’s stumps of elbows snapped up to obscure his tear streaked, terror stricken face, then brushed his sweat soaked hair away from his eyes.

Eren felt the utter disgust of himself twist in his gut, knowing that nothing he could say could fix what he’d done. No reassurances, no promises, lies… 

Actions spoke louder than words.

“I’ll fix this.” Slipped from his pale, battered lips, “I promise, Armin, I will.” It was hoarse and breathy, barely audible, but Armin understood it, nonetheless.

“No, you can’t. You can’t change the past, and now, we can only accept what has to happen.” The blond claimed, “I’m next. I’m going to be killed like a dog, get eaten by the next Eldian from an internment camp, and everyone will cheer…”

Eren’s face hardened, and his arms threatened to snap his chains, “It doesn’t have to be that way.” He began to grind his teeth with newfound passion, “You'll see."

Armin balked as the metal slabs cracked free with three harsh tugs. A few of Eren’s fingers came off with it. 

  
  


“Everyone will.”

  
  


That was when the world spiraled back in time, and he played again. 

Rewrote the note correctly, warned them of the bomb threat on the harbor, didn’t tell them where he was, or what his plan was.

Remembered what those people did to his friends and what Armin said as he lured Reiner and Falco into the basement. As he sliced his hand with a brunt of a knife.

There was one thing he forgot to include in the note, however. 

The specific place he told Armin to bomb was left vague. The last thing Eren expected him to do was transform as far from the harbor’s town as possible.

So innocents would be spared, he soon realized. But the terms ‘civilians’ and ‘innocents’ had varied meanings.

When the airship flew overhead, several gunshots rang out, cracking through the night like lightning. The blimp began its descent as instant as a flick of a finger. 

Then, the sky flashed with angry splatters of fiery explosions. It didn’t quite startle Eren as much that time. Instead, it angered him. 

He watched with unbridled fury as the blimp dropped like a clump of hail.

Silhouettes and specks of his comrades could be seen as they fled in terror. The bullets appeared in numerous waves. Bombarding them. Killing handfuls of them like soaring ducks.

Later, Eren would spectate, peering at the many soldiers who evacuated from the mayhem, and others who stayed inside. Plummeting to their demise in that massive hunk of metal and hot air.

His team were part of the crew who vacated, using their 3DM gear to storm through the air, searching for a building or any available cover below.

What none of them expected was for the vehicle to hit the ground before they did. 

The blast sent them surging forward, their wires to tangle, and debris to smash into them from all angles. Mighty white filled their vision, and for most of them, it was the last thing they ever saw.

Eren’s team were some of the few survivors to hit concrete. Jean, Sasha, and Connie were the first to tumble into a Marleyan’s home for safety. They smashed and leapt through a small window, ducking behind various pieces of furniture.

Before they could catch their breath, a chubby, middle-aged woman charged at them with a kitchen knife. She shouted something about “Slavery,” and “Devils,” before the stolen rifle in Jean’s hands went off. 

A loud gurgle, and thump, and Jean winced, squeezing his eyes shut. He quickly spun and retreated up the stairs, calling out to his companions, “C’mon!”

Mikasa had landed somewhere different, four blocks away, bolting through a vacant street and heading for a lone alley a few yards away. 

Several gunshots, a staggering crunch, and she collapsed with a cry of agony. Blood splattered the side of her uniform and bled into asphalt. But still, she refused to give up. 

Mikasa gasped as a frantic pair of hands grabbed her torso, she could only muster a hiss of pain as she was hauled to her feet. 

“We need to hurry.” Armin's voice urged in a harsh whisper.

Mikasa almost didn’t recognize him. He had tied a black piece of cloth around his face in order to obscure the titan marks streaking his cheeks. A dark hood dipped over the bridge of his nose.

“Try to be quiet and they might not notice us.” He carefully instructed.

Mikasa nodded, biting back against another sting of the bullets in her side. Armin's hands went to work, shucking the broken armor from her torso and using a second cloak to hide the buckles and reins of her military uniform.

Soon, they made their way through the alleys as discreetly as possible. Distant gunshots hammered past the silent air. Each sound that seemed too close made the soldiers’ hearts pump hard in their chests.

'Out of sight, out of mind.' They both reminded themselves.

Through the skitters of animals in dumpsters, squeaks of crickets and creaks of old, ruined rooftops. 

Mikasa began to walk slower and grasp the injuries on her side. The red had already soaked the thick fabric of the cloak in the span of a few minutes.

“We left the first aid back on the ship.” Armin muttered regretfully. His hooded eyes wandered across the houses, before he paused and pointed at one that was practically rubble. 

“That house right there. It looks abandoned, I bet there could be some supplies.”

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Mikasa tried.

Armin furrowed his brow, “Maybe, maybe not. But it's better than bleeding to death out here.”

The next thing Armin knew, he was screwing off the cap of a bottle of peroxide. His other hand went to work unwinding a foot of elastic bandages. 

“This should be enough for now.” He said, turning back to Mikasa, who already had her clothing rolled up and prepared, “It’s going to be painful though. You’re going to have to bite down on something.”

“Just get it over with.” Mikasa told him, knowing that the faster she got back to her feet, the faster they could reunite with their team. That soon enough, they would be home, safe and sound.

On her order, the liquid medicine poured and left a foul, sharp, chemical scent in the air. The female chomped down hard on her sleeve. The bubbling spouts and burning almost being almost too much to bear. 

But it was nothing compared to the other hardships she had been forced to face in her lifetime. Emotions, memories, regrets… replaying in her head like a broken record.

Mikasa’s fists clenched and unclenched, nails biting into her palms until she felt her friend stop to prepare the bandages. He wound it carefully around her waist, then up to her stomach. Once, three times.

Just before he was complete, she heard a faint noise creak above them. Footsteps.

“A-Armin, wait.” She uttered, and the blond obeyed. 

“What’s wrong?”

The blundering sound repeated again, slightly louder, overlapped. Multiple footsteps.

The two didn’t dare make a sound. But the bumping only grew closer, down the stairwell and outside the craggy bathroom door. 

They could do no more than flinch when the gap between the boards cracked and slowly fell open. Rough, tattered rubber boots squeaked as they plopped on the broken tile. 

Hearts hammering in their chests, Armin and Mikasa spun their heads, meeting the hard leers of the intruders. 

There were three in total. All donned in sweaters and rags, sporting the appearance of wanted criminals.

The man in front was the first to speak, narrowing his dark eyes.

“Teenagers?” He spat, bitterness in his tone, “I thought kids were smarter these days.”

The adults began to come closer, and Armin hopped to his feet, “We were only taking medicine!” He claimed earnestly, his garment still masking the majority of his face, “We were just about to leave.”

The bandit in the front pursed a lip, his brown eyes flickered over the counters of the room, then back at the suspicious youths. He frowned, “Sure you were.”

“They look like they’re fresh on the streets. They must have something.” The second thug behind him murmured, “If we leave quick, they won’t have time to tattle.”

“W-Wait!” Armin gasped right before he was slammed against a wall. The cloth hiding his and Mikasa’s gear had already been ripped away. 

“Wait … Eldians?” One thief inquired, cocking a sparse brow.

“No,” Another quickly corrected, “Devils.”

“Tch, pretty stupid to be running around when bullets are flyin’. You kids really are lacking brain cells. Hell, and _I'm_ the one sayin' that."

Armin struggled as a dirty hand prodded at the cloth over his face, and the disguise came free. 

“Holy _shit."_ The hand recoiled and the older male’s eyes grew almost comically wide.

“Could… Couldn’t it be paint?”

“I’ve seen paint. That shit ain’t paint, it’s fresh blood!”

“Could he’ve done it on purpose?"

“No, no kid’s that desperate to pretend to be a shifter!”

“But then, why wouldn’t he transform?”

“It’s because of this beauty,” A disgusted noise slipped from Mikasa. Armin turned to see a slightly better groomed muscled man, sporting a thick mustache and goatee at her side. His eyes were shaped like almonds and his jet black hair was combed back.

A chuckle came from the man beside him, “Looks like he doesn’t want to hurt his bitch.”

“Haha, amen to that.”

The black haired thug stroked Mikasa’s thick dark locks, much like his own, with a croon of approval. ”She might be half pureblood. It’s a shame that she's tainted with the devil as well.”

He leaned in to take a deep, perverted sniff, only for Mikasa to reel back and strike a hand across his face. 

The man hurled backwards and hunched against a wall for support, touching the fiery red handprint on his cheek with a wince. ”Feisty little thing, aren’t ya?”

His hand dipped into the cleft of his pocket, fishing out the hilt of a knife.

Mikasa’s stare veered to Armin, who was digging his unrestrained hand into the cabinet beside him. Right as the bandit’s knife was free, Armin lunged forward with a small scalpel between his fingers. 

He only managed two bloody stabs into the man’s back before the blade snapped off and he was rammed back against the wall. 

A distraction. Mikasa realized, He was willing to sacrifice himself in order for them to keep their hands off her.

The asian man threw a fist at the blond in utter frustration, he bared his teeth, "You little--"

Mikasa caught his forearm right before he could strike, barely managing to flip him onto his haunches. 

She barely noticed the first thug grabbing Armin by the throat next to her. Her injury began to bleed again, throbbing with uncoordinated thumps of agony. 

She was still too weak, her battered body could only take so much. All because of a few lucky bullets.

The Ackerman accepted the next fist that came her way, the impact cracking her head to the side. With that, the second man pulled her into a choke hold as well.

“Imagine the price of these two if we turned them in!” He yipped, stench heavy on his breath, “An asian devil and a shifter, imagine how many narcotics we could buy!”

The bandits nodded at each other, a common goal for once swarming in their heads. 

“Hey, don’t look at me like that, small fry.” The first man scolded Armin, with a far too menacing smile, “Why did you think we were on the streets? Arson? Assault and battery?”

The second man behind him quirked a brow, “Come to think of it, how would a shifter react to that stuff? Would it even work? Or would it just dissolve before it gets to their head? This kid needs to wire down, regardless.” He jostled a bit at Armin’s shoulder, who balked at him in terror.

“I’m not wasting no juice on a damn runt.” The leader retorted, “Not on the doll either. We barely have enough as it is.”

“But imagine how much we’ll have by the time we turn e’m in! C’mon, Cap, it’s been a while since we’ve had any fun. The bullets have long gone south since we got here. We can make it.”

The supposed ‘captain’ rubbed at the stubble on his chin, contemplating the situation vaguely. He eyed the blond up and down mischievously, before clicking his tongue. 

“Fine, but we better get there before the moon hits those trees. If we don’t, they won’t be the only ones with a death warrant.”

As if about to earn a full hot steak dinner, the second thief licked his lips and plucked a syringe and a small pouch from his pocket. 

A rush of terror blanched Armin’s face at the sight. His tongue automatically began to stammer as the bandit came closer.

“No, please! I won’t speak, I won’t do anything! I promise-!!” He screeched futilely as the man wrenched his wrists back with no remorse.

He yelped as the needle punctured skin. The injection plunged into the vein in the back of his arm. The pump was squeezed, and the discolored substance spilled straight into rushing blood. Despite it, the soldier never stopped squirming in the foul man’s grasp.

“Shhh, calm down. Relax and you’ll feel good.” He promised. The vague reassurance did nothing to calm the boy's terrified writhing.

Mikasa wanted no more than to rip that hungry smile off the monster’s face. Beat him and his disgusting men to a pulp and leave them there for the authorities to find. Lock them up and throw them in jail where they belonged.

Anything but let them torment her and Armin any further. 

Another needle pierced the blond’s skin, in the same place. It scorched like fire as yet another dose of the substance spouted free.

"T-Take me instead!” He suddenly blurted out, clearly trying to communicate with the heartless thugs while he had the chance -- before the drug reached his brain.

“Please,” He insisted, “They’ll kill Mikasa if you bring her, too. I know they will. They'll kill anyone with Eldian blood. Don’t let them, _please_ don't. If you…” His pupils abruptly blown wide, his speech becoming slow and drawled, “If… I..” He faltered, losing his train of thought, “Wha… What was I…?”

“You were talking about the fuckin’ tooth fairy.” The first man taunted, which only befuddled the boy further.

The man next to him cackled, his breaths strangely deeper and heavier than the other two. “Fascinating,” He breathed, “So it does work.” The second thug, far too intrigued by the drugs effects, gently poked a finger at Armin’s cheek to admire his muddled reaction.

Mikasa couldn’t keep her lips sealed any longer. She fought past the pain erupting in her stomach, attempting to lurch free, “Stop it! Leave him alone!” 

The female froze as her friend twitched at her volume, still somewhat aware of her presence. “Armin, listen to me--!”

She was cut off by the black haired hooligan forcing her head back and slapping a plastic jug to her lips. A foul, nasty taste infiltrated her mouth, tasting like a strange blend of toothpaste and cough syrup.

Mikasa coughed and sputtered as the liquid burned down her throat. Forcing its way down against her will.

“That’ll shut you up for a bit, girl.” The brutish male snarled, "It's only fair that no one gets left out."

Regardless, Mikasa continued to gag and spit on the floor, uselessly trying to reprieve the sickly fluid from her system.

“Let him go.” Came an order from the second man yet again, causing Armin to fall limply from the leader’s hands. He quickly lost his balance, using the bathroom counter to stabilize himself. He tried to remember where he was and what was going on, how he got there. 

But no muddled memory he attempted to twine together made any sense.

Armin blinked sluggishly, then waved a hand in front of his face in a vain attempt to clear the fuzziness in his vision. 

Slow, quivering breaths left him in bursts as wild, unworldly images, faces, and scenes flooded his mind.

The real world spun and flipped on its axis, before he found himself smacking back to the floor, sucking in heavy and frightened gasps. 

"Perfect." A deep, giddy voice spoke above him, followed by a gush of overlapping laughter. Armin almost forgot he had the ability to speak as well.

Only now, he realized, he had forgotten how. But he didn't hesitate to try.

"ggh… k-kh-h…" _help._ He mustered, fighting to make the distress clear in his dilated eyes. "Pl-ghg-pleah…" _Please_ . "Mh-kh egh st-ouh..." _Make it stop._

"The dopamine hasn't kicked in yet," One muttered, clearly disappointed, "It'll probably take a few minutes. Might be our fault for stressin' him so bad."

"Well, no shit, Einstein."

Armin ignored them and tried to stand back to his feet, knees wobbling, only to collapse back to the floor. The men cackled sadistically at him again, as if he were no more than a lifeless rag doll. Without warning, the asian squatted down and snatched Armin's lax hand.

"C'mon kid, you're coming with us." He smiled in a pathetic mockery of security. 

Armin wiped a string of saliva from his chin, cocking his head, "...where 're we...?"

The former ogled the room a moment, thinking, before he smirked, "The land of sunshine and rainbows, my friend."

"Suh… sunshine an'...?" Armin slurred, barely recognizing the words.

"That's right." The young blond felt the man sloppily drag him back to his feet, then another hand caught him as he began to sway forward.

Armin inspected their interlocked fingers, then back at the thug's face. Relating it to the tender, humble gaze of his grandpa. 

The blur of a dark beard and brown eyes made the two hard two hard to discern.

"E'r we…" Armin fumbled a bit with his tongue, "Ggh-goin'...home?"

A sense of child-like wonder appeared in both his expression and stance. Which only made Mikasa tremble and chomp on her tongue with more vigor.

"We sure are, bud." The asian man grinned with clear delight, "Don't worry, everything's going to be fine."

Armin offered a grateful smile and wobbled into his touch at the soothing response. His mind not wanting to reach beyond the barrier of false security. The ploy of safety.

It only added to the bonfire of disgust bombarding Mikasa's gut. Threatening to boil over in a hurl of fury at any moment.

Only, her body didn't give her a chance to release it.

Once the band of nomadic thugs dragged them outside the destruction, the world was as mute and quiet as ever. 

It wasn't a good sign.

During the first few minutes, Mikasa expected a spark, or maybe Eren's titan to barge the men and tear them apart like the mongrels they were. 

But after awhile, she began to accept that the thought was nothing more than a cruel fantasy.

So instead, she fixed her attention on Armin. She flinched every time he chuckled or drooled mindlessly at nothing, or when his eyes lingered far too long on the men and the dirt and lines on his fingers.

How he gazed over at her, pupils still blown and absent of the quick-wittedness that once built the whole fiber of his being.

Instead, they were ebbed of all the knowledge and passion, looking up at her as if to ask, 'What's wrong?'

It was then she realized why they even bothered giving him the dose in the first place. They knew he would outsmart them, turn the tables. He always did, always would, if he had the chance.

Strategy was something that Mikasa never had. All she knew was how to fight, how to shoot, how to wield a sword. But without strength or the will of fear fueling her, she was powerless. 

Nothing more than a scared little girl that could do no more than watch everything unfold. And that realization made her boil over with useless rage. Like an explosive ready to blow despite no fuse fueling it. Part of her thought she would.

Despite the bandits watching and the man still hefting Armin up by the waist, Mikasa found her hand on his shoulder. Her fingers curled like the flex of guilt in her gut, then slipped past his ear to rinse through soft hair. Thumb winding each delicate strand like a spider spinning a web.

She wanted to tell him that she was sorry. But she couldn't. It left as a breathy crack of air. Barely coherent, feeble, helpless. A curse brought on by the liquid that seared her gullet. 

The female ignored the scolding chants and teases from the other three men, even as they smacked her and Armin's faces together in mockery of a lewd make out session.

She only noticed how her friend's eyes looked straight past her, or right through her, she couldn't tell. Only saw how lost they were.

Mikasa paid no mind to the drag of slobber on her cheek as she sunk into the dip of his shoulder. She could only clutch her arms around him and tuck his face into her hair. Hoping that he wouldn't remember anything. Praying.

However, by the time his nose made contact with her shoulder, the group had already torn them apart. 

More time passed, before the thugs guided the two towards an eerie black car, and shoved them inside.

The thick, deep purple and red leather coated the insides. It left a strange sweet yet bitter scent in the air. As far as Mikasa could tell, it could've been anything.

A small, female bobble head bobbed from the dash when two men fumbled into the front seats. The asian man sat beside the captive Eldians, far too close to Mikasa for comfort. But all she could do was cope with the infiltration while it lasted.

Soon enough, the engine began to sputter and pop to life. Armin and Mikasa watched the scenery of the country flitter by with each bounce of the car's cheap, ruddy tires.

Smears of lamps, lights, and craggy bricks of poor neighborhoods soon became towers of abundant rich homes. The bumps of uneven, pot-holed roads rolled right away with it.

Eventually, the true nature of the thieves unfurled. The leader was donned in a cheesy black top hat, a silver watch, and black curls, slick with fresh hair gel from an expensive brand. He was a very patient man, ironically. Clearly a scam artist, opportunist, and identity thief as well.

He spent half the night driving up and stopping to speak with his so called "friends." Whispering vague requests before slipping them small pieces of paper.

A few minutes later, he had parked into an isolated parking lot to "get a drink," only to come back with several grocery bags and a thick wad of cash. The men around Armin and Mikasa greeted him with delighted fist bumps and cheers.

Before they knew it, they were steering through a fast food drive thru, ordering thousands of calories worth of food. 

The smell was outrageously inviting, intoxicating, and stirred hunger in Mikasa's gut that she wasn't aware she had. But watching the men devour the grub like wild boar instantly caused the feeling to twist and fade. The tease was nothing short of atrocious. But based on the last few hours she experienced with them, it wasn't a surprise.

Soon, the second man, or 'duck-beak' -- as Armin slurred drunkenly at one point, noting the copper skinned male's crooked nose -- spun around with a stark grin distorting his face. It was much too happy and inviting for their situation.

He had whispered something to his crew before he began jabbing cold fries at Armin’s lips. Jeering and mocking him all the while. 

Mikasa tried to ignore it. Held her tongue to prevent spitting broken, clumsy, breezes of protests, which would only goad the fools further on.

Instead, she stared at ‘Curly’ in the front seat, who was busy popping multicolored pills into a drink.

Seven quickly became twelve. Twelve became over twenty. He stirred concoction with a straw, flinching as a too-big bubble burst and splashed him in the face.

Duck-beak noticeably glanced over at him. He licked his chops with another gleeful grin, “Here’s to fulfilling our sick fantasies…” He chanted, grabbing the bottle from him and hoisting it into the air. 

“You can say that again." Came a hiss next to Mikasa’s ear. Which forced her to shudder with further disgust. She watched Duck-beak guide the cup towards her unsuspecting friend. It soon became clear what his intention was.

She lurched out, almost managing to snap free from the grip on her waist, before being yanked back with a new blade digging into her throat. _‘Control.’_ Mikasa reminded herself, craning her neck to glare at the monster’s menacing features, _‘All he wants is control.’_

A distressed gurgle sounded from the left of the cart, forcing Mikasa’s attention back to Armin. Duck-beak had already halfway shoved the poison down the boy’s throat, forcing it down by the pint.

Mikasa paid no mind to the knife at her neck then, her arm flexed free, body jerking out again -- but to no avail. Each feeble movement only led to more pain. Dribbling out like the red leaking down her side, spinning her head.

She cursed between her teeth in utter frustration, squeezing her eyes shut against the nightmare unraveling around her. 

Armin hacked, gasping as the foul drink popped free from his lips. He curled over, attempting to rid the filthy taste from his mouth by drooling over the fancy rug in the floorboard. Dazed, droopy blue eyes met dry silver, Mikasa could tell that he felt absolutely miserable.

The blond glanced down at the knife held at her throat, then back up again. Repeated once more. His mouth parted, seeming like he would say something, but Duck-beak smacked him upside the head before he could.

“Stop drooling everywhere, it's disgusting." He scolded him without pity, "It’s hard enough to keep the seats clean as it is."

Armin suddenly began to grit his teeth, managing to left his head, “… Wha-dha you wan... frohn u-sch...?” His pupils were constricting and growing rapidly, revealing the contrasting effects of the overload of medicine.

Curly seemed amused by his sudden reactivity, “Well, as you can probably tell, Charlie here is a bit of a… sadist. He’s a sucker for any poor soul he can get his hands on. ‘Specially if there’s no consequences for his actions. Killed a lot of folks cuz of it, too.”

Duck-beak caught Armin’s jaw as his head began to loll to the side. “Truth is, pal, you remind me of how I was as a kid.” He said, suddenly appearing regretful, “Small, desperate, weak -- big eyed n’ beaten and bloodied in the alleys. One day, those buggers did this to me. It's how I got hooked. One of e’m offered, said it’d help me feel good, help me forget. And it did.”

Armin began to tremble violently, trying to shy away from Duck-beak’s touch. A steady stream of blood gushed from his nose, and his eyes never stopped dilating and constricting, his body shaking uncontrollably.

“I thought it was only fair to let kids know what it was like, let them feel the same way. But…” He sighed, “Sadly, once that next feelin’ kicked in, I couldn’t stop. Got addicted. It’s like a curse now.” He concluded, features ghostly and devoid of emotion.

"Story never fails to make my skin crawl.” Curly commented, turning to his crazed friend and the captive with a fake cheesy smile, “Don’t worry, lad. We’ll keep your girl safe and sound… or well, at least through the end of tonight.” He informed Armin, who was still barely clinging on to reality, teetering on the edge.

Out of the blue, Curly leaned to the blond’s ear, so close that Mikasa couldn’t hear his whispers, “Hope you don’t mind us givin’ her to a few friends of ours. Trust me, they’ll take real good care of her there. A good man always keeps his word.”

“...ngh-! ghn-gnh!!" _No!_ Armin tried to squeal. He jumped up with need to tell Mikasa that she was in danger, going to be bought, going to be sold -- just like the men she told him about all those years ago -- but it all came out as jumbled nonsense.

He was caught off mid-garble, when his muscles locked up and knees gave out on him. 

Mikasa’s shock quickly spun into terror as her friend slumped to the side, wracking with convulsions. His muscles twitched and jerked without end. While the men merely watched with eager fascination.

Then, he stopped, and the room fell eerily silent. Mikasa almost thought the lunatics killed him for good -- just like they did to all their victims, probably left them on the side of the road as if they were no more than roadkill -- until she saw the steam sizzling from Armin's nose and dissipating into thin air.

“Damn, that shit really does fry brains, you were right.” Curly spoke, baffled.

“Explains why all the others dropped like flies after they tried it.” Duck-beak muttered with a roll of his eyes.

“Kinda explains the seizures, too, huh?”

Mikasa swore silently as Armin’s eyes shot open, practically bulging in their sockets. His fingers clawed at the seat’s fine leather, throat bobbing as if struggling to choke words past.

“Little bastard’s a fighter!” Duck-beak praised with a cheer.

Mikasa could only pray in agonizing silence, pleading for it to be over. But instead, it only got worse. So much worse. 

As abrupt as the thump of the radiator, Armin had rolled over with a few strangled gags before hurling his last meal and drink on the floorboard. Leaving a thick puddle of discolored mess on the once perfect red and purple threads.

The blond flopped back on his back, heaving and groaning, clearly exhausted.

But none of the three thieves offered him any rest. Duck-beak snatched the young soldier by the collar, shouting something about scrubbing and stains before tossing him back to his seat, cursing miserably. 

“Forgot to mention, Charlie’s a bit of a clean-freak as well. Hates to leave anything messy. Probably got it after sticking with us for so long.” Curly jibbed with a laugh.

Duck-beak said nothing, rubbing his hands through his dark curls before stumbling out of the car with a huff.

“He’s probably off to steal bleach from somewhere again.” Curly scoffed.

“Hey, how about we make things interesting while he’s gone?” The third black-haired thug flicked his eyes at Armin and Mikasa for emphasis, “Y’know, have some fun, like he said we would. _All_ of us.”

Curly seemed to catch on to what he was implying. He nodded, rubbing his chin with a vague, “Good idea.”

Mikasa almost ground her neck against the knife at his words. But she knew she couldn’t abandon Armin, leave him alone with these sadists. It would be wrong, cowardice, pathetic. He was vulnerable enough as it was.

Mikasa’s teeth snapped involuntarily as the fingers lifting the knife dropped and settled to the dip of her spine. 

She knew that the men were disgusting, ruthless, and capable of many horrible things. But her mind never dared to delve into that dark crevice in her skull, full of horrifying possibilities. And _this_ was one of them.

“Seems like girly didn’t like that too much.” Curly jeered, “In contrast, lad’s out like a light.” 

The sound of fabric being yanked over bare skin made Mikasa’s blood boil. Each snip and snap of 3DM gear reins being sliced was like adding fuel to the fire. 

The noise of rough, sandpaper skin ruffaging the soft skin and clothes underneath came far too fast. It was all so wrong. The wrack of disgust and shock and horror invaded Mikasa’s mind, words that were nowhere near descriptive enough to compare to the situation. Rancid, repulsive, foul, filthy, disgusting. 

Shouts of protests and petrified shrieks built up in the girl’s gullet, but refused to release. Only harmless croaks and whimpers came out, making her infuriation and humiliation all the more unbearable.

“What’s wrong?” Mustachio teased, shamelessly enjoying the sight, ”...Cat got your tongue?”

Mikasa growled and spent all of her pent up rage with a fist that hurled into the man’s face, successfully breaking and bloodying his nose. The red stained his mustache and lips a deep, slick crimson. He wiped at it with a click of his tongue.

"Shouldn't have done that, girl."

With that short second he was distracted, Mikasa peered over at Armin, who had his eyes part way open. There was hardly any emotion in them, but Mikasa could still tell what he was thinking. 

With that, she struck the third thug once more, weaker -- but more intense. Snapping his head back like he did to her before.

At the corner of her eye, she spotted a metal rod on the dash of the back seat. A broken support beam. 

The man’s hand had snatched it before she could even contemplate how. She barely juked the hard metal as it swung past her head. 

As she did, as if in slow motion, she watched the desperation in Armin’s eyes build as he rolled onto his hands and knees. He threw a flimsy fist at Curly while he was distracted, but it was unbalanced, uncoordinated. 

Curly caught it with ease, and responded with a hearty uppercut into the blond’s upset stomach. That was all it took to send him sprawling back to his seat.

Mikasa barely expected the bar clenched between her fingers to slip free, and her competitor cracked her upside the head with it. 

“Don’t mind leaving marks on me, I won’t mind leavin’ marks on you.” 

He said, watching cruelly as Mikasa squirmed and failed to recover from the impact. 

The ache sent swirls of lights swarming her vision, she was blind to the blood that was already drizzling down her brow. 

She could do nothing but tremble with more vigor as she felt the back of her own shirt be ripped open. 

  
  


Eren couldn’t bear to watch any longer. 

His shoulders quaked with relentless sobs, fists failing to mask the tears raining down his cheeks.

He told himself he wouldn’t cry over something that could be fixed so easily. 

But it was so sick. So revolting, so cruel -- that such a simple mistake could ruin everything and lead to _this._

Even if he did fix it, these people would still exist. There were so many of them. Different faces with the same putrid beliefs. 

He knew the only way to save his people was to force himself to believe that everyone else was no better than the people they spat upon. It wasn’t true, but it needed to be. 

It was the only way. 

And with those thoughts in mind, Eren forced himself to keep watching.

  
  


By the time Mikasa’s eyes flickered open, she was wide awake. 

Her mind was swimming, practically underwater. She almost thought that the events of last night were just pieces of a mortifying nightmare. Maybe she was struck with debris after her plummet from the airship. Maybe she was in an Eldian hospital. Maybe she was dead.

But once her eyes met those threads of deep burgundy red, she knew. 

It was real.

She hesitantly picked herself up, wincing at the throb of her head and far too many other places. 

The seats of the car were all empty except for hers. The windows were fogged with frost and the stereo was buzzing faintly with static. 

Mikasa sat up and took notice of her gunshot injuries, which were reeking with the stench of fresh alcohol. As if the splash of a drink was all they could offer to prevent infection.

Her throat was still excruciatingly sore, but the slight dip in her voice when she breathed was enough for her to let her know that she could speak. 

A sudden snore out of nowhere made her jolt up with terror, before she found the source. 

Face-planted on the rich leather seat, skin pale, and normally well kept hair a mess. Mikasa was at Armin’s side within seconds. Her fingers smoothed over each loose flaxen strand as new horrific blurry scenes danced in her head. 

She knew she should have left him alone to rest while he could, but she already had pulled his limp form into her arms in an automatic search for a pulse. She felt his nose brush the dip of her shoulder, feeling the slow, heavy breaths and reminding herself that she wasn't alone.

Emotions swelling and overwhelming, she squeezed him harder. Sobs heavy and withered fell from chapped lips. Drops gushed and trickled down her cheeks, splashing onto the seat’s fabric and churning it a deep blood red.

She tried to let the relief hit her, that they still had a chance for survival. They were still breathing, still alive despite everything. 

But it wasn’t enough to drown out the dread and terror gushing through her. It was too much. As more and more scenes came, swept over and--

“...Mi…” Her thoughts halted. She blinked wearily, winding a lock of hair around her finger, but she said nothing. “Mi…” She felt Armin perk up in her grasp, “...kha-sa…?”

“Shhh,” She soothed, rubbing a hand along his back, trying to ignore the wetness underneath, “I’m right here, don’t worry. “

Armin sighed into her hair at the news, but Mikasa still felt his heart thump hard in his chest. As if unsure if she were really there. 

His fingers flexed quizzically, circling her shoulder. Gliding along carefully at her upper arm, until he sputtered again, “Th-Those men… where…?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know where we are or why they left us, but they’re bound to be back soon. We need to leave." Mikasa explained, trying to keep herself calm. She paused, attempting to see through the frost-drenched windows, “Do… do you think you can walk?”

There was a slight moment of hesitation before the blond began to move. Lumbering limbs instantly wobbled and he soon needed to lean against the car door for support. 

“I… w-we need to…” He stuttered, his next words hacked out like a cough, “Hurry.” 

Armin’s right hand jerked to the door handle, fiddling with it uselessly before it popped.

Without support, he tumbled right off the seat and clattered into hard gravel. His head began to spin from the sudden quick movement, and he clutched it in a desperate search for relief. The tips of his fingers were pruney, and he didn’t know why. Just wanted to run, run away, get up, get out, anything.

His body felt like a beaten sack of bricks and he couldn’t. Couldn’t, but dammit, get up get _up-!_

“It's ok,” Mikasa spoke beside him, "I think we're safe." 

Armin realized his face was wet, slick. It reminded him of when he sat on the roof after he watched Eren get eaten. When Connie found him and - Where was Connie? Where was his team? Sasha and Jean? They always stuck together, how could they be split apart so easily?

A noise filled his ears, loud, blaring. A car horn. Then a series of laughter that sent sparks of terror shooting up his spine. He recognized them.

“Didn’t think we’d let you go that easy, did ya?” One said. 

Armin couldn’t remember his name, only remembered the face with a frightening smile and black eyes, reaching down at him and Mikasa and -- no.

No, no, no, no, no…!

He felt his friend clutch his arm from the side. Tight and protective. She hissed through her teeth, waving some sort of weapon at them, refusing to give them any more satisfaction. The thieves only seemed more entertained from her reaction. 

“How cute. What do you think you can accomplish with a stick? A few scrapes? A bruise, maybe?” The third quiet male chuckled, amused, “We already got to see how much you could fight last night. There’s no need for us to break your other leg.”

"Had to clean all of that shit up, too.” Another voice griped. 

Their taunts only beckoned the female further over the edge. Her fingers fastened around the base of the wood, body threatening to pounce forward.

Curly took it as an open invitation. His fist leapt in for her cheek, but she batted it away with her own. Without warning, she delivered a well-aimed kick between his legs, sending him toppling to the floor. 

Armin already began to clammer away, towards the next set of cars nearby. 

"Pint-size's on the run. Anyone wanna go catch him?"

"Nah, look at him, he ain't gonna get that far."

"Shit, he's still gonna try. I’ll go fetch him.”

As if on cue, Armin tripped over his own feet and collapsed onto the hood of a car. 

_Where is a weapon?_ Was all he could think, his eyes darting in every direction they could. _Weapon, weapon, weapon, weapon, wea-_

A fat hand grabbed ahold of his leg, wrenching him back with a heartless tug. 

Without thinking, Armin snatched the car’s antenna, only for it to be snapped off right with him. 

No, no, no, no, no, no, no! The blond didn’t realize he was murmuring his thoughts aloud until the men started mocking him again. 

"Must’ve sounded like this last night, huh?”

"Oh yeah, he was goin' off like a hooker ready to be plucked from the streets -- you should’ve seen it!”

“I’m glad I didn’t. Must’ve been disgusting.”

“Oh, it sure was.”

Armin’s breathing became erratic as he clawed at the dirt, the wire of metal still clinging to his palm and blending with the color of the clay sod. 

With a desperate cry of determination, the boy curled his spine to face the predators, hurling the antenna with a thrust of a forearm. The blade met skin with a sickening slice. 

The third thug yelped, but Armin didn’t relent. Once, twice, three times. Jabbing the device straight into the man’s stomach with as little remorse as even they had. 

Globs of red stained the once perfectly white concrete. 

The other two thieves' eyes went wide. Duck-beak dropped Mikasa to the floor as his teammate sunk limp into the street.

"Holy shit, is he--" The thug stammered, taking a horrified step backward.

In response, Armin merely stepped forward, flinging the bloodied skewer at the villains as if brandishing a mighty sword. Perfect military coordination had seeped back in response to his pummeling adrenaline.

"Juice must've worn off!" Duck-beak cried, stumbling back a few steps.

"Kid's gone mad! Let's fold, I didn't sign up for a damn massacre!"

Curly retreated back to his car, jamming the key into the socket and cranking it with a yank. Duck-beak had already hopped in the other side, right as his leader thumped his foot on the accelerator. 

Mikasa nearly lurched out for them despite her broken leg, but Armin stopped her. It wasn’t long before she found out why.

As soon as the car’s wheels screeched over the end of the alley, something under the engine popped and burst in a mighty explosion. The car completely flipped over, slamming into a clump of asphalt and obscured in a flurry of flames.

Furocious red and orange ignited the once blank, rusty grey alleyways.

Mikasa almost couldn’t believe her eyes. Wondering if she had just witnessed a miracle, or if it was just another one of the gangs’ tricks. 

All she had to do was glance beside her to find the truth. A detonator in Armin’s trembling hands. He was also gazing at the destruction, as if he couldn’t believe it happened as well. He had succeeded. 

The blond cast his weapon away as if it were poison, mumbling under heavy pants. “Rem...remember that…” He peered over at her, “The box? L-Last night?”

Mikasa slowly nodded, recalling the small bomb Armin had fished from his discarded uniform while the thieves were distracted. 

Hesitantly, he continued, “I… slipped it under the seat while they weren’t looking.” 

Mikasa sighed, both relieved by the rescue and caught in despair by the next wave of memories bleeding into her mind. She just wished they could’ve done something sooner. _She_ should’ve done something sooner. That way, none of it would have ever happened.

“Th-Thank you,” She said, fighting past the knot in her throat, “Good thinking, as always.”

Armin barely comprehended the compliment as people barked threats at them from the apartments above. 

“Quick, we… we need to go. The authorities--” He rasped. 

Mikasa nodded again, and before she knew it, they had bolted off into the alleys.

What happened next in the timeline was something Eren didn’t expect. 

Before, when he was living the reality, he hadn’t realized what had happened. Or, at least, nothing specifically. He only remembered watching the airships collapse again with frustration. He hadn’t yet seen behind the scenes.

Hadn’t seen how Armin and Mikasa drove themselves through hell, how they searched daily for any remnants of the Survey Corps -- which was crippled from such a tragic loss of soldiers and commanders.

They never found their team. Not a speck of Jean, Sasha, or Connie. They never found out what happened to them. 

And as many times as they’d tried, they could never sneak out from the city’s borders. The authorities were strict on who were allowed outside the districts, and none would let a supposed peasant through the gates.

They would rather wave their rifles and shove them back into crowds. 

So the two Eldians were forced to blend in with everyone else. No one could tell that they weren’t Marleyan. There was no difference between them.

Armin and Mikasa had no choice but to accept their new roles in the filthy society. 

They plopped down onto dirty rugs with the homeless, gazing at the feet of wanderers passing by. They noted the variety of footwear each had. All of the different styles and shines under the street lights.

It was only then did they truly know what it was like to lose everything. 

Their friends, family, home, everything they loved. It was a dreadful feeling. A painful blend of lonesome and sorrow. The endless, unanswered question of, “What do we do next?”

Yet still, they fought on. Even through thirsty, unfulfilled nights and the days even Armin discarded his own morals. He figured if the government would take everything away from him and Mikasa, they might as well get their fair share.

Theft, persuasion, manipulation.

Out of bitter frustration and repulsion of what their world had become. But it was the only way they survived.

It wasn’t fair. It was never fair. 

Still, the two kept reminding each other, no matter how hopeless they felt.

_“Keep fighting. Keep fighting. We can’t lose if we don’t stop trying.”_

Those words stuck to Eren like hot glue, or dried blood between his fingers. After awhile, he forgot that the words weren’t even his own.

There were so many other paths that could happen. So many varying outcomes. 

One of many concluded with the previous thieves succeeding in bringing the Eldians to the impound. And when Armin questioned why they were bringing Mikasa, too, despite what they had promised -- Curly spat the answer in his ear.

“No slave trader would take a filthy devil that no one would buy.”

They were dragged through a vicious mob, full of people of all shapes and sizes, screaming and hollering at them. There were elders, adults, teens, even children -- all from different classes and castes.

Eren forced himself to notice them. Blended their shouts, faces, and clothing together and churned them all into one. The enemy. 

Eren ignored the friendly faces in the background, which made his stomach twist with conflicting emotions. 

Especially the memory of the man and woman in the previous reality. The ones who smiled so sincerely and asked his friends of their stories. Called them "kids," without spite or mockery and gave them a fistful of money each for the road.

He focused on how all those vacant people did nothing. Nothing to stop their allies from commiting more bloodshed and unnecessary deaths. 

They were too scared to take action, too afraid of any retaliation it would cause. So accustomed to the life they'd lived to the point where no one wanted anything to change. In a way, Eren's people were no better. 

But Eren didn't dwell on the thought for too long.

Instead, he remembered the chunks of food and trash that littered Armin and Mikasa's terrified faces as they were hauled through the facility's doors.

Eren couldn't tell if the events were worse or more merciful than the last.

They were met with the frightening silhouettes of government officials, who grabbed them and dragged them back to the dungeon. The same dungeon Eren had found Armin before.

Just like that, the events repeated.

Eren knew what had to happen. One question was imminent in the mess of thoughts swirling in his mind. 

"Keep fighting. Keep fighting. I can’t lose if I don’t stop trying.”

No matter how many times he or one of his companions made a mistake, he never stopped trying. No matter how many times he was faced with the shell or corpse of his comrades after a short-sighted decision. 

No matter how many times he was confronted by one of his previous teammates in the middle of his plan. One time, it was Connie. In another, Jean appeared. But every single time, no matter the circumstances, Armin and Mikasa were always right by their side.

Always so determined for a talk, to find out what he was doing. He couldn’t blame them. They hadn't spoken in so long. But they always came too soon, or too late, never at a perfect time.

Eren had tried again. Over and over and over again. But no resolution ever came. Each time only resulting in yet another dreadful failure. Each being caused by the same reason. Because of them.

That was when he decided that he needed to go back, rewind. He decided that he would give them the talk that they wanted, but at a price.

The encounter took a load of sickening anger from Eren’s chest. It was all directed at the two who deserved it the least. But it needed to be done. 

It took many retries, revisions, many repeats to make each lie sound sincere and true. Festering up and boiling like he was spouting steam. 

Soon, the wavering chokes in his voice subsided, replaced by the ghoulish, empty tone Eren was aiming for. 

He accepted Armin’s fist when it came for him, knowing full well that he deserved the blood that followed. 

The rickety table slammed onto the wooden floor before Eren vented his own frustrations into his wrist, throwing his fist back at his best friend. 

Sure enough, they collided, and the force of the blow knocked the blond into the cabinet behind him. Glass bottles quickly fell and shattered into shards on the floor. Which would soon resemble the duo's hope splitting into pieces.

"So, Armin," He said, sounding no better than the men who abused them before. No better than a villain attacking a hero in a folktale. "we've never fought before, huh?"

Armin stumbled on his feet, wiping at the fresh bruise on his cheek. The whirlpool of betrayal, anger and sadness in his eyes was heartbreaking. Still, he reeled back for another brave swing, and it was far too easy for Eren to beat him again. 

“You know why that is?”

Another jab to his head and a kick slammed his friend against a wall. 

“It’s cause there’s no way you could even put up a fight against me.” 

One more collision of knuckle and skull, and Armin dropped like a dead weight, down for the count.

It was a far too unfulfilling victory.

Eren made sure to keep his face blank through it all. Knowing that deep down, it was for the greater good. They would understand sooner or later, and when they did, they would search for him. And when they would find him, only then will it be the right time. The mission would be complete.

Still, the way Armin shot back up in Mikasa's arms, forcing Eren to see what he had done, that his actions had consequences, 

"And…? What is it… you even wanted to say?"

He stared with nothing but hatred, still fighting through his words despite the blood and bruises and one eye swollen shut. 

"Is that the freedom you wanted? The freedom to hurt Mikasa…? Tell me…"

Mindlessly, Eren compared it to the bright eyed, adventurous beam the soldier had once all those years ago. Broadcasting the forbidden book of the outside world. Admiring all the beautiful, sketchy landscapes and things they had never seen before. Back when they were just kids.

"Who's the real slave to a piece of shit…?"

How different it turned out, Eren thought, That this was the price of fulfilling their dream.

Soon, they would understand. They may not forgive him for it, but at least they would understand.

That’s what he reminded himself when the inevitable came. 

After he inherited the founder, announced to all Eldians his plan. Successfully sent the whole island into hysteria as the walls crumbled into dust and the Wall Titans stirred to life.

Time moved menacingly slow by then. The plan had worked, all of the rewinds and retries were worth it. The lives of all the world and Marley were at his mercy.

The world saw him as a villain, and his people were struggling to decipher between right and wrong. Their plans had scattered into disarray. 

No one knew what to do, how to react, how to deal with the situation. Their emotions were tumbling apart just like the rock shedding from the Colossals’ skin.

Eren had seen the events unfurl a few replays prior. How the stairs aligned perfectly into place. After nearly hundreds of tries that ended up draining him to the core. 

But for them, it would be worth it. 

Tens of blocks away, Armin and Mikasa had discovered Annie, who was looking out over the apocalyptic destruction. Once they had told her what happened, most of which she figured out on her own, she told them what they needed to do, if they wanted anything to change. 

Blunt and straight to the point. Nothing but how their insecurities and emotions have kept them from action. 

That they needed to step up now, or else the blood of the world was on their hands. 

The order was nothing short of petrifying to them, and reminded them of the previous encounter which had kept them from it in the first place. 

The failure convinced them that any further communication would be useless. But they knew they couldn’t stand there like they had for nearly a year. They needed to do something. Needed to face what they feared most.

They ended up being the only ones who were able. Annie was right.

And sure enough, there they were. Swords drawn, frightened eyes wide and determined and knees quivering in their boots. 

They stood there like that for a moment, clearly unsure of what to say. 

The thing that was seated before them barely resembled the boy that it once was. To them, it appeared as a monster. Perhaps that was Eren's most fitting form. One that resembled the consequences of his actions. 

All the duo could see was an angry, thick-skinned leather mask and green orbs. 

But despite everything, they had reunited, at last.

Armin was the first to speak, the first to attempt to gather his bearings. 

“We came here to stop you, Eren.” He said, voice quivering but vow still present. 

“The lives of everyone in the world is... too great of a price. We can still find another way..." He paused, contemplating, "There are still different paths we can take, negotiations, anything. It's not too late to decide. Just, please..."

The blond stepped forward carefully, as if daring to tame a wild beast. Which, in some ways, he was. 

“Think of all those innocent people out there. Ones that were just like us, before… all of this.”

He pressed on further, 

“The things we saw in that book -- if you do this, you’ll destroy all of it. Just think of the destruction, is that really what you want?”

Mikasa prepared to strike the nape of the frozen monster, rearing back and gritting her teeth. Armin’s fingers brushed the cleft of the enormous titan’s face, the last sliver of hope twinkling in his eyes. 

"It still means a lot to you, doesn't it? That's why you're doing all of this, right? To save us? Protect us? To make our world a better place? To grant us the freedom we've always wanted?"

Armin flinched as the beast's eyes narrowed, insidious suspense wafting in the air. 

"Before you make a decision, just tell us.... What makes us better than them? How does this fix anything? Does this do anything than prove that we are the monsters they think we are?"

The blond's fingers made contact with the rough, sandpaper-like skin. Which lit Eren's eyes bright back to life.

In unison, the once idle Wall Titans pumped alive right with him. 

As if to answer Armin's question, they all marched forward. 

Trunks of feet bombarded into fresh sod, resulting in massive quake from all directions. 

The force of it almost sent the team toppling off the side. The next chorus of steps shook them to the core. Knowing that the decision had been made.

"...No!" Armin shouted on impulse, "No!"

Mikasa slammed her sword into the titan's neck before the metal split into pieces. But still, she slashed it again, again, again, despite no mark being earned from her efforts.

Eren bellowed a deafening roar, which blew Armin and Mikasa's hair back from their eyes. 

The situation truly felt like a nightmare coming true to them both. That Eren was the monster everyone claimed him to be.

But still, Armin couldn't help but think, that if it was all just a ploy...

The Colossals took a third step, a fourth, fifth -- Armin grit his teeth, deep down knowing that any attempts to stop him would be worthless.

Then he remembered what Eren had told him when he tried to talk to him last. 

_"You're the one being controlled by the enemy."_

_"A clan who lost their true selves, created only to follow orders. In other words, slaves."_

_"You're judgement was always able to lead us to the answer. But every time you open your mouth now, it's 'Let's talk."'_

_"It's cause there's no way you could even put up a fight against me."_

_"Mikasa, I've always hated you."_

It was a lie. Everything he had told them was a lie. 

Without thinking, Armin thrust an arm forward, and his blade tore through the thick flesh like butter. Compared to the monsters size, the bloody streak should’ve been no more than a papercut, but still, Eren shrieked and flailed in place.

Could there be a possibility that it was all fake? All lies told in order to achieve a different goal?

The enormous titan shook its head twice more, successfully knocking his friends both off of the tower of debris.

Mikasa activated her 3DM gear on instinct, grappling onto the monster's shoulder once more, while Armin's jammed the instant he clicked the trigger.

No gas.

The soldiers thoughts flickered fast as gravity took hold. There had to be a reason for all the events falling into place, had to be a reason why Eren was playing the cards of a villain.

Armin was falling too fast for Mikasa to swoop in for a rescue, she was already locked behind Eren in result of his erratic motions.

There was only one thing Armin could do.

He decided that if Eren wanted a battle, he would give it to him, even in the midst of the world's end.

With that, he gulped back his fears, all the guilt and regret, everything, and chomped into his knuckle with a mighty war cry.

The sky lit into fire and mayhem. 

The final battle had begun.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I might add one more chapter just to wrap things up. Like an epilogue or something like that, because I feel like this story would work much better as a two-shot than a one-shot. So feel free to leave any requests if you wish.
> 
> Leave a kudos if you enjoyed. And drop your thoughts and questions in the comments, I'd love to discuss!


	2. Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello once again fellow readers.
> 
> It's been a total of 8 months since this was updated, but I'm still dedicated to what I said before -- I still felt like this needed one more chapter to properly wrap things up, so here it is.
> 
> I threw in a few references to Beyond Two Souls and a bit of a guitar scene from TLOU2. The song that represents this chapter, (or the entire fanfic, in this case,) is actually inspired by a 4 minute Attack on Titan animation I made recently, that I'm extremely proud of. Check it out here if your curious: https://youtu.be/pr7N0aBEPYU
> 
> I feel like the song strangely accurately reflects Eren's POV in the manga so far, and especially the story as a whole. The climax really does feel like it's right around the corner, and I'm stuck between being terrified or welcoming it in open arms.
> 
> Anyways, this may not be a very long story, but thank you all for sticking with it regardless. Writing these fics has definitely been a wild ride and I'm glad to be able to share my ideas to all of you who read.
> 
> Feel free to leave kudos, bookmarks and comment your thoughts as you please. And with that said, please enjoy.

_“Come out upon my seas._

_Cursed missed opportunities am I_

_Apart of the cure_

_Or am I part of the disease?”_

_Coldplay; ‘Clocks’_

  
  


All at once, shattered shards of memories engulfed his head. Slotting together like the pieces to an unsolved jigsaw puzzle. 

His mind rattled with bewilderment, all but baffled of how they all fit together. Whether they were skimmed, replaced, vanquished, past, present, future -- or better yet, how they lead to him being here in the first place.

  
  


Oh, right.

  
  


He had turned back time. 

Back to when everything started. 

The ocean waves lapped relentlessly at the city’s freshly-carved wooden pier. Roofs of abundant Marleyan homes extended outwards only to vanish along the distant shore. 

Sunlight bled its way through thick blankets of white clouds and glossed the surface of the dark water with streaks of gold.

Massive ships towered at Eren’s sides, still-so-smooth lumber under his feet and the fresh salt water dripping from his palms so strangely nostalgic.

He savored the sweet scent of salt through his nose. It was something he hadn’t noticed so much the first time he was there. Hell, even the foul scent of dead fish somehow became appealing.

Everything was so… calm. 

Serene. Nostalgic. Even with the seagulls squawking and the people scattering behind him, Jean and Connie’s bewildered words of how incredible ice cream was…

It was something familiar.

But he knew it would only last so long. Soon, after the short hours of exploring the city and relishing the comforting ease, he would be back in that refugee tent. Slurping at the liquor in a rusty tin can, contemplating the future.

Back to Mikasa’s wandering eyes and bottles of wine littered at every corner. The dim, country sunset trickling through the thin walls of the camp.

When Armin spoke to him again, Eren was tempted to give him advice for what would come. To never give up, even at the brink of helplessness.

But instead, as always, Eren rehearsed the same lines from before. 

_“No thanks, I’m fine here.”_

_“What’s what?”_

_“No, what makes you say that?”_

_“Yeah. Of course. You guys are my family, I would never lie to you.”_

As grateful as he was for being able to talk to his family again, his world was beginning to feel like a story being retold on repeat.

His words held less weight to them. His heart held less sorrow. Even the wisping flames on wax candles appeared somber and dull. 

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, the situation felt more like a nuisance than a burden.

Nevertheless, Armin’s final verse still struck him just as hard as it did the first time. No matter how drunk and stupid he was, his words still struck true.

_“We love you… you know that, right?”_

Eren found himself wishing his words could, too. 

“I know. I love you, too. All of you.”

_I just…_

Eren’s thoughts ended up slipping to his tongue, “I just hope it’ll last…”

He felt Armin falter a bit as he shifted in their both awkward and bittersweet embrace. His head lifted briefly, fingers flexing uncertainly... Eren felt the blond’s eyelashes flutter against his shoulder. 

Almost as if he, too, was afraid of waking up from a long dream. 

When Armin slipped away, those big, befuddled blue eyes glossing over him, so sickeningly similar to the drugged stupor he was forced into before. 

Something was knicking at his brain, perhaps something he had forgotten, long ago. It wasn't just memories, no. 

It was something… recent, something dangling at the tip of his tongue, so sweet yet so bitter to taste. Like licking at something stuck between teeth, reaching out for something still so far away.

_They're all going to die soon..._

_No… I'm going to kill them._

Breaking himself free from paranoid thoughts, Eren decided to intervene.

“You’ll forgive me if I do anything stupid, right?” 

He forced a small chortle, despite fearing those thoughts to be true.

Armin smiled at that: a big, beaming, somewhat-crooked grin, just as bright as it was in his youth, “I always do,” a hiccup interrupted his abrupt wave of chuckles, “So does Mikas’ka. You should know that by now.”

“I know.” Eren’s lips perked up ever-so-slightly. His pupils flicked downward, inspecting the sharp blades of glass already scattered on the floor.

His hand reached up to pat his long-lost friend on the shoulder.

  
  


“Thank you.”

  
  


. . .

  
  


Eren awoke to the sound of chirping crickets.

  
  


He lay there a moment, inspecting the traces of fabric in the tent’s ceiling. Each crosshatch intersecting, merging, growing into something much greater.

The room's scent seemed more sweet than sour. And the dust particles began floating across the room and churning white in the sun’s embrace. Flittering off and on as they fluttered into the shadows. In such a mesmerizing formation. A pattern.

So much like him and his family, in a way.

They were all different shapes and clusters. Rolling in a pattern, tied to each other.... 

_What would I be to them?_

Eren bit his tongue at the thought. 

To him, they were humanity’s last hope, beacons of light in the dark. Armin was the peacemaker. Mikasa was the protector. 

What did that make him? 

The one who destroyed everything. The one who set fire to the world in order to set the ones he loved free. Both a hero and villain. The destroyer, predator. Whether he liked it or not, that was the role he was required to play in this game of spades.

Only in the end would it be time for his family to draw their cards. Put him down like the mad dog they knew he was. 

The brawny guard’s harsh words from a previous timeline still stuck in Eren’s mind. _“It’s not our fault for putting a dog in its place,”_ he had said.

Maybe he was right, albeit in a close-minded, chastising way. 

Eren was doing the same thing to them. Slaughtering them like dogs. No matter how much he tried to justify his actions and separate their beliefs, they were one of the same.

He needed to accept that he was no better than the people he was fighting against. And as much as the world tried to classify whether his actions were right or wrong, the outcome of his decisions was all that mattered.

Whether the world would crumble or would be born anew, all depended on him.

But deep down, Eren still couldn’t help but wonder.

_Am I a part of the cure, or am I part of the disease?_

  
  


###

  
  


“What do you mean you don’t have enough?”

The boy stepped forward, his voice insisting enough to match his frantic blue eyes, 

“Please. My friend has been sick for days, weeks even. She’ll die without it. I don’t even know how she’s lasted as long as she has, or even how many days she has left...” 

The pupils pierced into his own, pleading and unfaltering, “Does the loss of another life mean nothing to you?”

Magath rubbed two fingers at the bridge of his nose, clearly agitated. He retracted his hand from his plump sack of supplies with a sigh,

“Money doesn’t grow on trees, kid. There’s already so many lives lost to war. Too many for one man to afford.” He patted his pockets for emphasis, “I’ve got a family who needs it, too.”

The blond visibly stiffened in place. His expression contorted into one of confliction, which soon marred into one that was hard to describe.

He still looked far less intimidating than most men the general had faced. He may have been a soldier previously, remarking his posture and frame. Even as short and skinny as he was, with those gangly dark grey pants dangling at his ankles and a simple faded blue sweater.

“You’re an authority, aren’t you? A Marleyan general.” The boy acknowledged, too smooth to be from anyone less than a soldier, “I know your military has plenty of stock if you were willing to share. It’s too much for just a handful of soldiers…based on the current number of fatalities, anyways...” 

Magath’s brows narrowed ominously at the remark.

“I’ve seen dozens of children here die of colds in the winter. The tents' walls aren't thick enough to prove otherwise.” The former added, jabbing out an accusing finger, “You’d let them die, over selfishness. All for a few cans of liquor and a pack of cigarettes -- For an addiction, an escape from reality."

His voice became more harsh and degrading until it sounded like he was spitting bile, “After all the lives you’ve taken, is that all you can do? You should be ashamed of yourself. What kind of leader would put himself over his own people? Over his own soldiers? One that doesn’t deserve his rank, or his family. Or--”

  
  


\---

  
  


The boy yelped, cruel words falling dead in his throat as he was yanked with the force of an ox.

_‘I can’t breathe.’_ Was Armin’s first coherent thought upon realizing his situation.

He could feel his feet dangling six inches off the ground. Two trembling hands coiling around his neck like a snake, cocking his chin up to meet the unstable leader face to face.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” The man muttered under his breath, disbelieving. Whether it was of Armin’s or his own actions was unclear, “Right now, and on this night of all nights…”

It was then Armin could see the brunette clear, under the glaze of a golden street lamp. His short black hair was shaved in a military buzz cut, with dark blue eyes, thick brows and stubble to match. 

The crimson badge wound around his bicep stood out starkly from the black fabric he wore. A symbol to represent high status. One commonly associated among nobles and military leaders.

Wrinkles gnarled his aged skin, fury clear on his face as he snarled,

“You have no idea what I’ve gone through. You don’t understand the sacrifices I’ve been forced to make. Nor how many men I’ve lost in this worthless damned war.” 

Armin tried to choke out a response, an inquiry, or maybe even a forced, half baked apology, but nothing could come out. 

He could only stare back at the stranger in utter horror, internally barking curses at himself for being so foolish.

He had gone too far, he only wanted to make the man pity him, give him some aspirin or a few quarters or dimes, if anything. Not this. 

But he was so _sick_ of his miserable situation, that the sickness ended up spewing out in words. 

He hadn’t lied about Mikasa’s status, however. He had seen the gaunt dimples in her cheeks growing deeper over the past few days. 

If only the truth would’ve been enough to persuade a decent meal... 

The Marleyan huffed out a sigh, anger dissipating from his tone.

“Not that it matters, anyway. It doesn’t matter. All we are, are cowards fighting amongst ourselves, on opposing sides. Scavengers, thieves, stealing the lives of anyone we can get our hands on.” 

A distant, almost tormented look appeared in his eyes, “We’re all blind cowards. All it took for me to realize it, was a team of hostages we found in South Liberio. A girl and two boys, all part of the same team, pleading for their lives…”

Armin’s mind was quick to process his words, yet also disbelieving.

_Could he possibly mean..?_

“We’re all parasites here, nothing more.” The man concluded.

Armin glanced behind him to see the sack the general had previously slung over his shoulder. It lay there, long since discarded on the ground. 

There were the beer bottles and blunts he had spotted before. As well as a bouquet and various accessories that he hadn’t spotted before. 

The instant he put the pieces together, his stomach twisted into a knot.

He really messed up this time, shit.

The man’s fingers didn’t retreat like he had hoped. Instead, they twitched -- like the strange, subtle shift of the pupil gazing down at him, through thick, indigo waves -- and _squeezed._

Instantly, Armin reacted. His fingers clawed at the pressure on his neck as he gagged for air, eyes bulging wide.

Instincts surged through his body like wildfire. He struggled, nails catching and piercing into skin deep enough to bleed. 

It did nothing. The hands refused to let go.

He felt like a wild animal trapped in a cage. Helpless, pathetic, weak, just like he was with those men not so long ago. 

He felt just like he did then -- tears bleeding into his eyes, images dancing in his vision, couldn’t touch, couldn’t feel, couldn’t see, couldn’t stop, _please_ stop _…_

“ _Stop,_ ” He managed to say, nothing but a meaningless croak, but still audible with clear distress.

The man said nothing.

Armin felt his face boil, hot prick at his skin, too hot, fire, red, white --

It was only then did he finally understand how Eren felt.

Felt the palms tightening, yet also faltering, glancing downwards to find the monster’s knuckles blanched white. Too much like his own.

Armin’s mindset fractured from multiple perspectives to one. He became the prey trembling in a predator’s jaws. 

All he could think to do was _fight_ , no words could be spoken, no distractions.

He flailed his legs, clawed at skin, a once recurring feral instinct consuming him, _‘Fight,’_

Bared his teeth, screamed, wailed, sobbed, choked, tried to call out a name, even if there was no name to call out to. _“Fight!”_

Armin struck out one last time, fists barely beating into the general’s chest before falling limp at his sides. His shoulders slumped, eyes finally breaking from reality and becoming still. 

They stayed dead set on the man in front of him, devoid of life -- even if he still lived, somehow.

He must have been dead, since it was only then that the Marleyan finally let go.

Armin didn’t feel himself crash to the pavement, only felt the sweet gush of glorious fresh oxygen surge into his aching lungs. 

He choked on air, curling in on himself as his torso trembled with each agonizing breath. His eyes were probably bloodshot, burning like fiery embers, tears still rolling down his cheeks and his hair matted with sweat.

The blond watched as the Marleyan began to walk away. Watched the way his boots slinked back into the shadows. 

He vaguely caught a glimpse of the man’s eyes. Cool blue, much like his own. Yet incomprehensible, feeble, terrified.

No, that couldn’t be right. 

_He_ was supposed to be the one in peril, suffocated, terrified, _he_ should’ve been the one with those eyes. Maybe he was looking into a mirror, or maybe at a face so thick he could peel it back like a mask.

The man stared at his palms as if they belonged to a stranger. So similar to what Armin faintly remembered someone doing before, so long ago.

The general looked back down at him, suddenly conflicted.

He seemed like he’d lost a part dear to him. Something vital, like an arm or leg, a son or daughter. Perhaps the loss blended together, to the point where he couldn’t differentiate what he’d lost anymore.

“I-I’m sorry.” He said, bringing his hands to the sides of his temples, “The violence must’ve gotten to me, after so long of seeing it…” He trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut, “I should’ve known this would happen.”

Armin debated on responding, but decided against it. He wasn’t even sure if the man knew he was there, maybe not even alive. Much less due to the repetitive pounding in his head and buzzing filling his ears.

He could feel the man’s gaze bore into him. It took a moment for him to build the strength to look up again. But it was only because he felt something burning inside of his mouth.

Reluctantly, he parted his lips, only to taste the strong iron flavor of blood. 

His heart thumped hard in his chest when the first thread of steam came into view.

_‘How did that happen?’_ The anxious thoughts swarmed like wildfire in his head, ‘ _Did I break my neck? Bite my tongue?’_

The man’s feet staggered back again, boots clicking against concrete. 

Armin’s teeth sunk into his bottom lip, his mind racing, praying that the reaction had been nothing more than a figment of his imagination. That he was too delirious from near-suffocation to think straight.

He managed to roll onto his hands and knees, staggering to his feet. Even while his head throbbed and his chest ached from the motion. He ended up losing his balance, stumbling, and his knees locked up as pure panic pulsed through his veins. 

Inevitably, he ended up tumbling back to the ground, his lungs burning, choking, and heart thumping hard as the man’s shadow leered over him. 

_‘Not again.’_ Armin’s head screeched at him in desperation, ‘ _Not like this.’_

But he couldn’t move. His body wouldn’t listen to his frantic pleads.

The boy could do no more than shuck his arms over his head and squeeze his eyes shut, trying to pretend it was all just a bad dream.

He could hear the man reaching for something on his belt, before pausing, as if unsure of how to react. Then, he heard the noise of metal grating against stone. 

The Marleyan appeared just as stunned as Armin. For when Armin saw those empty, sorrowful, and conflicting eyes again, they were churned into raw terror.

Then, no more, as the slick edge of a make-shift silver blade tore through his jugular. Those streams of deep blue gradually lost their spark and grew hollow.

There was a gasping sound, a strangled gurgle. Red gushed like a morbid fountain of gore. It gathered into a thick puddle on the floor, not unlike slick ocean waves laving into dry sand.

Someone was touching him, grasping him firmly by both shoulders -- and although the touch was familiar, it didn’t stop Armin from reacting on instinct. 

He lashed out, shouting with as much vigor as his sore throat would let him. Wasn’t even sure who he was calling out for anymore. He didn’t care to think past the panic, only thought of being the next victim of the being he was sure was hurting him some way, somehow.

  
  


“Armin, listen to me!” 

Mikasa’s voice. Although, he had never heard her voice so _loud._

“Calm down, it’s alright, calm down.”

He let himself relax at her words, feeling his rapid heart beat begin to settle in his chest. His fingers reluctantly uncurled from her arms.  
  


“You’re safe now.”

He released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. It quickly distorted into something not unlike a tormented sob. 

He tried to hold it back, but it wouldn’t stop.

  
  


…

  
  
  


Endless, nostalgic yet strange and uncanny music ignited through the lonely alleyways. 

In unison, thunder rumbled ominously from the ghostly night sky. Murky orange and yellow clouds above swelled and churned the night into a strange sandstorm-like dusk. 

Gradually, rain began to splatter onto the metal rooftops above. A recurring _‘thump thump thump’_ that sounded more like a percussion beat than what it truly was. Drops rapidly gushed and trickled their way down, splattering onto the discolored pavement. 

Nothing but rust and mold coated the lifeless brick walls. Which gave the place a distinct, musky odor. It was so quiet, apart from the strings and pattering rain. It wasn’t nearly as bustling with chatter and clacking shoes as it was the night before.

Armin’s calloused fingertips stroked the chords of a makeshift guitar. 

He had found it not long ago, abandoned on the curb of an empty old road. 

No traces of any previous owner remained. Only a slight, hardly decipherable name carved into the wooden base.

Armin didn’t know how to play by any means. His fingers might as well have been plucking at a rubber band tied around a cardboard box.

Nevertheless, the noise was a lively distraction from the real world, as brittle and cruel as it was. Each ugly, unfulfilling note was enough for the boy to close his eyes and relish the fact that they were still there, still alive, against the odds.

Mikasa didn’t seem to mind the noise either, at least. She simply glanced over at him and perked her lips a bit. 

The guitar's thick strings grit at Armin’s fingertips as he continued rehearsing a long-forgotten song. Soon enough, the tune inevitably fell flat and the blond’s fingers retracted from the chords. 

“Pretty good.” Mikasa said, her voice sounding more hoarse than it did the day before, “Do you mind if I try?” 

\--

Mikasa inspected the neglected guitar, tracing her thumb over a signature carved into its base. Across from her, Arlert decided to make use of the pile of sticks beside him.

Lightning struck again, white cracking the world like a whip. The haunting melody soon resonated even as the rain fell. It was still uncoordinated and clumsy, but there was an odd charm to it that couldn’t be described.

“Where did those come from?” 

The tune halted abruptly.

Mikasa’s words came out of nowhere, successfully breaking Armin from his thoughts. Her eyes narrowed as his eyebrows rose.

“Hm?”

“The bruises.” The girl pointed to the place below his chin, “On your neck. Where did they come from?”

Her friend cast his gaze to the floor. His lips parted, clearly hesitant to respond.

“When I heard your voice earlier, then saw that man…” Mikasa continued softly, “I only saw that look on your face, and reacted. Didn’t even think of why he was there…” She set a palm to the back of her head, sifting through thin raven strands, “You didn’t intend to… _interact_ with him for pay, did you?”

Armin’s eyes lit up at that, clearly appalled she would accuse such a thing, “No, of course not! I just,” He rubbed his face with his hands, “I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. I found him in an alleyway, buying drugs to cope with the outcome of the war. He was only going to a funeral to honor fallen soldiers.”

“I tried to convince a meal or money out of him, it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t deserve…”

He trailed off, catching the ruthless glare in Mikasa’s eyes. He knew what that meant.

“He attacked you.” She stated, “You had full right to retaliate. But you didn’t.” She paused with eerie silence, “So I did it for you.”

Armin glanced away from her, biting the inside of his cheek. He rubbed his hands together, pupils flittering, debating on responding. But inevitably, his fingers traced back to the mute chords of his guitar. He knew she was right.

Mikasa let out a soft exhale, then a deep breath to savor the sweet, metallic musk of rain, “I know the encounter with those men impacted you. You’ve never been the same since. And I… I can’t stop thinking about them either, or Eren…”

“What happened wasn’t our fault. If anything, we were just…”

“In the wrong place at the wrong time.” Armin remarked sourly. He stroked at the strings of his instrument, gradually finding a steady rhythm. 

It was all repetitive, measly trial and error. Nonetheless, the chords grew from a clumsy, unflattering noise to a smooth, buttery melody. Almost as if his fingers had a mind of their own, they were fluttering up and down with almost timeless precision.

He shut his eyes, relishing the music as the rain continued to fall. In his head, he could practically hear a man singing the verses of a long forgotten song.

_“Am I part of the cure, or am I part of the disease?”_

  
  


_…_

  
  


Eventually, the nostalgic music was enough to lure Mikasa to sleep. 

Armin knew that wasn’t the only reason, however. His friend was still on the brink of malnourishment and sickness as far as he could tell.

The dark circles under her eyes and the way her posture slumped backward gave him an unwanted surge of deja vu. It took his mind back to a place he never wanted to be again. 

  
  


\--------

  
  


_“Move, runt.”_

He’d felt a grip at his waist, hands on bare skin. 

...Or did he? 

What did it matter. He couldn’t tell a difference anymore. All of his senses had slugged together in one giant heaping mess. He might as well not even be there.

Still, he fought, fighting as much as his battered body was able. Struggling to keep his eyes open, even if he knew he didn’t want to see what was happening.

_“Yeah, that’s more like it.”_

He couldn’t tell which man was speaking. None of the words were clear enough to make it past his head.

_“C’mon, lad... you’re still with us, aren'tcha?”_

Words overlapped and intertwined in his head, but all with little to no meaning.

It was all just vague nonsense. Nothing but mindless chatter devoid and sucked of all its purpose. Armin was sure it had no purpose to begin with.

Dammit, why couldn’t he just fall asleep again? Why couldn’t they just stab him with another needle and let him succumb to an oblivious fate? His head was pounding as if it were a beating drum. His entire body was sore and he couldn’t think straight.

He lifted his head to see Mikasa at the opposite end of the cart, or was it Mikasa? All it appeared was a vague, shadowy figure. 

Armin’s hand robotically reached out for it, his lips murmuring her name regardless if she were there or not.

_“...Eh, I’ll take that as a ‘no’...”_

He couldn’t remember much. Couldn’t recall the events that lead up to being there. Could only shut his eyes and let fate lure him into an empty state of blankness. 

Like an ink black pen being dragged back and forth along blank paper, or sinking into the ocean, gulping in lungfuls of water -- drifting, drowning, yet with odd serenity.

He wondered if there would ever be an escape.

  
  


...

  
  


Armin gazed at his reflection past the ripples in the water. The first thing he saw were ghostly blue eyes staring back at him, deprived of the innocence they once had.

His hair had grown out since… however long it had been. Weeks, months, he’d lost track. Blond strands prickled at his cheeks and tickled at the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t grow much else besides a bit of scruff on his chin and above his lip.

It was pitiful, repulsive. Something so unlike him. So bizarre, yet so haunting and eerily familiar.

What he saw was a barely recognizable version of himself. A stranger. A cloak or a veil creased over something familiar. Something he once used to know. 

The longer Armin gazed, the more the emotions stirred and swelled in his chest, threatening to boil over. He balled his fists, grinded his teeth, narrowed his eyes. 

He couldn’t help but think, _how did it come to this? Was there anything we could have changed? Could there have possibly been a different path?_

They had no home. Nowhere to run. Nothing but people who only viewed them as monsters, inhuman, even if they could hardly tell the difference from one another.

They were one of the same. 

If only they knew the truth.

...

  
  


He was running, cheap leather flats smacking the slick street below him. He had already slipped a few times, adrenaline pumping through his veins, eyes sharp and bugged with horror.

The men were right at his heels. Shadows, demons, spectres, whatever the hell they were. He just wanted to run, get away, disappear, anything.

Harsh streaks of furiouscious orange lit the street alive. He could feel himself spinning, tumbling to an abrupt halt. His fingertips grated against the slick pavement, but all he could see was fire.

It was blinding, hypnotizing.

What had happened? He was being chased a moment ago, wasn’t he? 

Were they visions? If so, why? What was…

His dazed, copper tinted eyes rolled upwards, meeting a harsh silhouette that clashed the surrounding vibrance. 

The first thing he saw was a red scarf, bound tight and knotted at the base of a metal scaffolding. There was a choking noise, gasping churned with desperate hacking. Were they the voices again?

His broken, tortured mind couldn’t handle putting the pieces together. The calamity struck him all at once, bashed and quaked over him like the debris of a fallen skyscraper. 

Armin only felt his hands at the sides of his head. A piercing, horrible shriek tearing through his throat. He screamed, careless to all who heard, overcome by raw terror.

He felt hands scrabbling at his arms and shoulders, and reacted like a striking viper.

“Don’t touch me! Get away from me!” His cries may as well have fallen on deaf ears. For much stronger and limber hands proceeded to grab his arms and pin them to his sides. 

He felt a palm gently yet frantically slapping his cheek. And he blinked his eyes open to be greeted by telltale obsidian. He didn’t need to ask to know what happened. 

Letting himself slump to the pavement, he covered his face with his hands and sobbed.

  
  


###

  
  


The Earth let out a shuddering quake. 

A deafening wail resounded through the bleary orange sky. Wisps of blood red slithered across in weaves, like small trinkets tickling through the broad vicinity. A warning of the calamity that was bound to come.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

_Crunch, crunch, crunch._

It was all that could be heard. Ringing, bouncing, ricocheting back and forth in Eren’s head. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, taking in steady, calm breaths, letting the world around him melt away. All of the screaming, shrieks, howls being consumed by the pounding that wouldn’t stop.

Bodies stacking, piling up, until a mountain of corpses lay before his shut eyes. Waiting for them to unsheathe. 

Sounds of horror all drowned out by the crashing waves of freedom. Couldn’t they understand what it meant? Why were they crying when they should be happy?

Eren opened his eyes to see a breathtakingly beautiful turquoise sky splattered with bright white clouds and birds and life. There were no walls, no war, no rules, no ground at his feet, only… freedom.

Eren felt his lips perk up at the sight, shock and wonder flooding his face like the heat of the golden sun. He spread his arms to the air, feeling no restrictions, no pain, no chains that had shackled his wrists for so long.

The realization lit his eyes like a match on gasoline. He laughed, tears engulfing his vision, hardly believing the amount of joy and fulfillment swelling in his chest. 

“This is it,” Eren’s voice cracked, sounding much more youthful than he did mere moments ago, “Armin, we made it. We’re here.”

His faithful, naive gaze snapped to his best friend, expecting the same unyielding energy he had reflected since the day they’d met. But the boy he saw reflected none of it. Armin was reaching out for him desperately, panic consuming his voice, although Eren could not yet make out what he was saying.

Why was Armin fighting? 

Didn't he understand what this meant?

_Wasn’t this the world they wanted?_

That was it, wasn’t it?

It was all just his own sick fantasy. Just false images to convince him that everything was alright. Crumbling under his fingertips like cracking glass.

_No. This was the world I wanted._

His fantasy began to contort, vision going muddy and bright white clouds smearing into a dark polluted haze. Armin’s face distorted into further panic, growing older, eyes flashing with a terror Eren had never seen before.

He heard him call out his name one final time.

As the world rolled back into dark uncertainty once more, and a chord struck. 

  
  


Eren opened his eyes.


End file.
